


guards like watchdogs

by justalittlegreen



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (it's okay they're in therapy), Bad Communication, Ben Hanscom Loves Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh Loves Ben Hanscom, Blue Balls, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Hair Pulling, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Reclaiming, THAT sewer scene (referenced but not revisited), dom!bev, nobody gets hurt, people processing trauma poorly, pussy eating, sub!Ben, tagged underage just in case, the straights are not okay, trauma history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:41:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25190308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Summary: Six months after Ben and Bev remember what happened in the sewers when they were kids, they're fumbling on a path forward.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	guards like watchdogs

It's not out of the blue, entirely. She's been building up to this all day, whether either of them realize it or not. It started with her asking for a glass of water, when she was closer to the kitchen than Ben was, and the fact that he got up and fetched it anyway. While they were making dinner, she made him chop and stir, her requests barely toeing the line of demands. After dinner, they watched her show, and when ben sat at her feet and leaned his head against her knee instead of sitting up on the couch with her, she didn't question it.

In the movie - a gay romance Eddie had suggested - every time the leads kissed, Bev felt a flutter in her stomach, not unlike the sensation right before she kissed Ben for the first time, but never before brought on by a movie or a book, or anything other than Ben. And certainly not since...the remembering.

It was because it was safe, she decided, watching the leads kiss like it was their personal attempt to save the world (and wasn't it?) Two men meant...equality. No pressure, right? Two men kissing wasn't all that different from no men kissing, if manhood meant the things it was supposed to mean. The day she caught Eddie and Richie kissing, she'd felt like that, too.

Gd, what she wouldn't give for sex with a man without all the trappings of manhood.

She slid a hand into Ben's hair and started working at it, rubbing her thumb behind his ear as he sighed against her happily. He turned to kiss her knee through her jeans, tentative and careful, but warm. Sex hadn't been on the table in months. Therapy had gotten them back to where they could watch a movie together, share a peck on the lips when Bev got home from work, but nothing had gotten them close to...anything like before.

Which is why it surprised both of them when she tightened her grip on his hair so he couldn't turn to face her, leaned down and said, "How'd you like me to sit on your face?"

Ben freezes. Having Bev's hand in his hair is the most prolonged contact they've had for months, and he'd been enjoying it so much. The question slams into his chest, steals his breath. 

"Hey," Bev is saying, running a hand down his shoulder and _oh Gd, why is this happening, why can't he move_ , "it's okay, we don't have to; it was just an idea..."

Fuck, now he's rejecting her, on top of everything else he's put her through? 

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to," he manages to say. "You - to have felt that way even once is more than unacceptable, and - "

She cuts him off mid-sentence by pulling his head back against the couch. 

"What if I wanted it badly enough that I didn't care what you wanted?"

Ben squeezes his eyes shut, heat spreading over his face, down his chest and - oh FUCK it's been awhile. 

"I guess," he says, "I wouldn't have a choice then, would I? I'd have to let you - " he swallows, " - do whatever you wanted to me. Take whatever you - needed."

Bev's hand relaxes, and her voice changes dramatically. "Is this ok?" she asks, low, urgently. "It's not - I'm not really -is this ok?"

He reaches up and puts his hand over hers, curling her fingers back into a fist in his hair. "It's more okay than anything I've felt since - you know," he says, his voice striving for normal. "Just keep going. I'll, um, I'll tap out if it's too much?"

"Then what are you still doing here?" Bev sneers, shifting effortlessly back into that steel voice that already has Ben throbbing in his briefs. "I'm not going to kneel on the fucking floor." She shoves his head forward, letting go. Ben starts to get up, but, leaning into it, starts to crawl toward their bedroom instead. 

Bev watches him go as she gets up and unbuckles her belt, heading for the guest room, and her second closet. She's not sure what she's looking for until she finds it - a pleated black skirt, something that would scream goth schoolgirl on another body. Bev pictures the heavy fabric draped over Ben's face and smirks as she pulls it from the closet, stripping off everything but her shirt and blazer, and stepping into the skirt.

She stops at the bathroom on her way to Ben, catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she's running a wet washcloth over herself. She rummages through her makeup, finds a lipstick that's bolder than her usual. It's not that Ben will notice - or even see it, if she has her way. But it's not for him. It's for the moment she puts it on, her hand steady in the mirror, the dark purple-red color standing out against her skin. It's not lipstick to be admired.

It's for marking skin.

Ben is lying on their bed, curled up on his side. He watches her as she comes in, his cock straining against his fly. She almost feels sorry for him. Almost.

She turns the lights off, pulls the blackout curtains shut. There's just enough light that she doesn't bump into anything, but she's grateful for the dark. 

She doesn't want to look at him.

She climbs into bed and straddles his chest. Ben tucks his hands under him, like he's trying to make himself smaller for her. She puts a hand to his cheek.

"I don't want to look at you," she says. "I don't want to deal with you. This?" she says, reaching behind her and grasping his cock through his jeans. Ben gasps. "I'm not dealing with this. This isn't my problem. Understood?"

"Yes," Ben whispers. "I'm just here for whatever you - " 

"Shut up," Bev snaps. "You have better ways to use that."

She hitches her skirt up and moves up until she can grab the headboard for balance. Ben's hands come up to tentatively hold onto her ass, and she lets it slide. for now. 

It's almost anticlimactic at first. No sparks, no flames, just the hesitant movements of Ben's tongue against her clit. As much as this is going exactly to plan, she's not exactly warmed up. Usually, it doesn't take more than a few minutes of -

fuck usually. There hasn't been a 'usually' since they started coming to grips with the past. She's exactly where she wants to be, and Ben's tongue feels _good_ , even if she's nowhere near an orgasm. She gives a breathy little moan, to let him know she's enjoying it, and stops herself.

There's a pause beneath her. "You okay?" asks Ben in his regular voice.

"Did I tell you to stop?" Bev snaps.

"I wasn't sure you were enjoying it. I just want to make sure."

"If I want you to stop, I'll tell you to stop," she says a little more patiently. "What, if I'm not fucking moaning like a fucking porn actor I must not be enjoying it? I have to PROVE it to you?"

"No," Ben whimpers. "No, Bev, it's okay. I'm sorry, I'll keep going. Just - tell me if you want to stop."

"You'll know if I want to stop," Bev says grimly. 

Ben resumes, still cautious, but Bev sighs into it, relaxing, her knees spreading an inch further. With the pressure off, she can rest her head on her forearms on the headboard and sink into the sensation. Focus on how his tongue feels, not on Ben's feelings.

This is for her.

There's something meditative about it, the sounds of Ben's mouth against her, them breathing in the dark. Bev looks down a few times, out of habit, and is quietly relieved to not see Ben's face. As soon as she thinks it, she feels tears fill her eyes. What the fuck is wrong with her? Why does she want things like this?

It is a either a fucked-up coincidence, or exactly the opposite, that Ben kicks it up a notch the moment she starts crying. Bev's body goes from a low-grade hum to a keen within a few minutes. Ben shows no signs of fatigue (or oxygen deprivation, she notes wryly) as he fucking _laps_ at her, drawing her clit into his mouth and sucking at it -

Bev gasps for real this time. She moves her hips against Ben's mouth, angling for more, and he keeps up with her - he's always been good at this, dedicated and persistent, never minding the repetition. She works herself closer and closer to the edge, and for a moment, in the tiny, silent, held-breath moment before she comes, she almost says his name.

She comes with the kind of sounds she's always held back in bed in favor of sounding...cuter? More porn, less horror movie? It's not a sound Ben's ever heard from her, she's sure. _It doesn't fucking matter_ screams across her mind. Ben's not even there. She can't see him. If she tells him not to, he will never mention this again.

Bev throws her head back and grunts as the body beneath her squirms.

*

Under Bev's skirt, the air is hot and still, Ben's breath coming back to him as soon as he exhales. Still, it's easy to lose himself here, in the singular task of his mouth on Bev, his head clasped between her thighs. Ben loses track of time, lets his mind slip past the ache in his jaw, his tongue, repeating to himself over, and over, _just keep going._

Bev almost suffocates him when she comes. He almost comes in his pants, untouched, dizzy and aroused and clinging, perched on the edge of release, the sounds Bev makes - he's never heard her like this before, rough-edged and powerful - going straight to his cock. He's so close. So close.

And then suddenly, Bev climbs off him, and the cooler air hits his face, his wet chin. The ache in his jaw sears, his tongue swollen, the desperation at a knife's edge.

He reaches for his jeans - Bev had said she didn't want to touch him, and that was fine, that was totally okay, he wasn't even sure he _wanted_ her to touch him, not like this, not right now.

But it surprises him nonetheless when she reaches down and grabs his wrist, squeezing it tightly and maneuvering him onto his side. 

"Cuddle with me," Bev says, and it's neither soft nor a request. He can hear the edge in it, the dare to refuse, or at least beg. He rolls onto his side and Bev curls up behind him, still holding his wrist. Within minutes, he can hear the settling of her breath, the deep, easy half-snore that tells him she's asleep.

Ben lies awake for another hour, eyes closed, aching, not daring to break free of Bev's hold. 

_This is nothing_ , Bev's voice echoes in his mind. _This isn't about you._

Tomorrow, maybe, he'll ask Bev where this is going. What it means. If she even liked it. Tomorrow, he'll jack off in the shower, away from Bev, where she doesn't have to know, or see, or contend with it.

He promises himself that as he finally starts to drift off.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS BASICALLY MY THINLY VEILED DIATRIBE AGAINST COMPULSORY HETEROSEXUALITY OKAY? BAD COMMUNICATION IS LIKE, JUST THE BEGINNING. BEN AND BEV AS AVATARS FOR GENERATIONAL PATRIARCHAL VIOLENCE AND ITS IMPACT ON FUTURE GENERATIONS YES PLEASE.


End file.
